


Even Nannies Need to Unwind

by triedunture



Series: The Massage Saga [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Face-Sitting, Frottage, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), Idiots in Love, Massage, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Scissoring, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), The Dowling years, Tribadism, Vaginal Fingering, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23271250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: "Come in," called a lilting Scottish brogue.He opened the door to find Crowley seated at her vanity, her back to him. Her clothing was still the staid black-on-black of her Nanny disguise and her red hair, still in its careful waves. She seemed to be focused entirely on the work before her, writing with great intensity on a sheet of foolscap, a hand propping up her head at the temple. Her tiny dark glasses sat folded on the vanity's corner.Without turning around, Crowley said, this time without the affected accent, "Don't even think about stepping over my threshold with those horrible teeth still in, angel."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Massage Saga [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673329
Comments: 43
Kudos: 352





	Even Nannies Need to Unwind

Aziraphale bit his lip while he contemplated the door before him. He was standing in the darkened hallway of the east wing, second storey, of the Dowlings' country home. Somewhere downstairs, a clock chimed the eleventh hour. Everyone else was in bed for the night, but from beneath this door, light spilled out, soft and yellow.

He gathered his resolve and knocked.

"Come in," called a lilting Scottish brogue. 

He opened the door to find Crowley seated at her vanity, her back to him. Her clothing was still the staid black-on-black of her Nanny disguise and her red hair, still in its careful waves. She seemed to be focused entirely on the work before her, writing with great intensity on a sheet of foolscap, a hand propping up her head at the temple. Her tiny dark glasses sat folded on the vanity's corner.

Without turning around, Crowley said, this time without the affected accent, "Don't even think about stepping over my threshold with those horrible teeth still in, angel."

Aziraphale frowned, but took a handkerchief from the pocket of his gardening smock and spat the false teeth into it with all the grace he could muster. He then peeled away the fluffy sideburns and eyebrows as he stepped into the room, wincing as the spirit gum gave way. 

"As you wish," he said, shutting the door. "Brother Francis has been safely stowed for the night, I swear." He removed his floppy hat and stuffed the pieces of his disguise in its bowl. He dropped the whole parcel on top of Crowley's nightstand, waiting for her to comment on how he was making himself quite at home in her little room, but she continued to ignore him. Aziraphale cleared his throat and asked, "What are you working on, my dear?"

Crowley heaved a sigh, but still did not look up. "Reports." She remained hunched over her papers, the sound of her pen nib scratching along the page the only sound in the room.

Aziraphale approached the dressing table with caution, hands clasped behind his back. "I thought you finished those last week."

"Those were last week's reports. This one's this week's. You know how much Hell loves paperwork."

It was true; Heaven was usually content with a quick verbal report every few months, but demons tended to be more strict about deliverables. A Hell of their own making, so to speak. 

Aziraphale laid a hand on Crowley's shoulder with a hum of sympathy that morphed into a gasp of shock. "You're as stiff as a board!" He felt around the rock-hard muscles that seemed bunched beneath Crowley's prim suit jacket. "My goodness, how long have you been at it?"

"Since I managed to get the little Hellspawn to finally sleep." At last she lifted her head and turned to glance at Aziraphale. "You know, sometimes I wonder if you weren't playing a nasty trick on me when you suggested I take the nanny job instead of the gardener one."

"Oh, please don't think that!" Aziraphale cried. His fingers dug into Crowley's knotted shoulder. "I only thought you might— That is, caring for a baby would at least— You _did_ say you wanted more physical closeness in your life." He swallowed, remembering how Crowley had confessed exactly that to him years ago.

"Angel." Crowley's lacquered lips lifted in a small smile. She patted his hand where it lay on her shoulder. "I was only joking."

All the breath left Aziraphale in a whoosh. "Ah. Good."

"Though I'm not kidding about how exhausting it is," Crowley continued. She faced forward and started scribbling away on her report again. "Warlock is a fulltime job, even with miracles, and you can bet I'm using them left and right. On top of that, my head office is always badgering me for the latest. 'Has he sprouted horns yet? Any change in the body count?' He's just learned to crawl, for Somebody's sake! Don't they know these things take time?"

Aziraphale made another sympathetic noise and cupped both her slim shoulders in his hands now, rubbing soothingly. Crowley, whether aware of it or not, leaned back into the touch as she kept on venting spleen.

"I've started just making things up. 'Yes, he lit someone's hair on fire with just a look. Yes, he's started asking for a tricycle.' Meanwhile, all the little beast has done is spit up on my blouse and tug out my earrings on a regular basis. D'you know how hard it is to keep an earring in around that boy?" 

Aziraphale clicked his tongue. "Not specifically earrings, but I do know he's murder on accessories." The angel himself had lost what he'd considered a very fetching neckerchief to the lad just last week; Warlock was apparently teething. 

"Well, unfortunately, I can't include my jewelry in the tally of victims. It would look better for me if I could." Crowley tossed her pen onto the papers in disgust. "What are we doing here, angel? Wearing these silly costumes, getting spit up on—is this really going to save the world?"

"My dear, don't lose faith now," Aziraphale pleaded.

Crowley turned in her chair slowly to level a sardonic look at him, her finely plucked eyebrows arched high.

"Well, you know what I mean," he huffed. "Don't lose your—nerve, I suppose."

Crowley turned back to her papers with a groan, cracking her neck side to side. "I'm losing my mind, more like. If I have to write one more fictional progress report, I'm going to scream."

"I know, you're working awfully hard." Aziraphale's hands returned to her shoulders, kneading more purposefully. Crowley gave a low hiss as his seeking fingers found a very tight spot. "Is this helping?" he asked. "I know I'm not as talented as you in this, erm, arena—"

"Harder," Crowley ground out, her head lolling forward, "and down a bit."

Aziraphale adjusted as ordered and was rewarded with a soft whimper. "Better?" he asked, just to be sure.

"Much," Crowley said. "Don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He grinned to himself as he continued massaging Crowley's shoulders. 

In the ensuing quiet, it was possible to hear every little noise Crowley made, and when she spoke again, it was in a bare whisper as if even she couldn't stand breaking the silence. "Been awhile, eh? Since you've...touched me."

"Yes," Aziraphale said in a matching tone, soft and quiet. "Some might say too long." He thought back to that strange afternoon before the Antichrist had arrived. Such a blissful time they'd had, indulging in each other's bodies. Then things had gotten a bit hectic and, what with one sign of the coming Apocalypse and another, they hadn't been able to—repeat the experience since. 

"Are you?" Crowley drawled. 

Aziraphale's hands froze in place where they were rubbing at the back of her neck. "Am I what?"

"Are you one of those who might say it's been too long?" Her voice carried its usual sharp, sarcastic edge, but Aziraphale could hear that singular note within it that meant his old friend was honestly not sure, and was anxiously awaiting his answer. Aziraphale couldn't quite find his tongue quickly enough, and Crowley began to shift forward in her chair with an unhappy exhale. "Right, I've made it weird—"

"No, you haven't." Aziraphale took her gently by the shoulders and guided her back to him, resuming his massage with new purpose. "Apologies. You're not wrong. I would say that. I would say...oh, a great many things, I suppose." He lifted a hand and brushed his knuckles against the softness of Crowley's cheek.

"Angel." She turned her head into the touch like a cat seeking out a good stroking. 

"Hush," Aziraphale whispered. "Just relax. Allow me."

Crowley was pliant as clay under his hands, turning her head or craning her neck to the side to give Aziraphale better access to all her aches. She sighed as another knot was found and, with some miraculous intervention, banished. Her head tipped back to rest on Aziraphale's stomach, her bright yellow eyes staring up at him with serpentine steadiness. 

"Aziraphale." Her chest rose and fell with her labored breathing. "Please."

It was the gentlemanly thing to do, not to make her spell it out, poor girl. Aziraphale could see plain as day how she wanted to be touched, and his hands slid around to stroke her birdlike collarbones beneath her starched jacket, over the silkiness of her blouse. His fingers suddenly felt as clumsy as sausages, but he persevered in plucking out the knot in the red ribbon she wore at her throat. Black onyx shirt buttons gave way, as did the buttons of her jacket. 

"There we are," Aziraphale murmured as he parted the panes of her blouse, baring her simple black brassiere to the air. "Isn't that better?" His hands slipped into the cups of her bra, tugging them down and playing with the copper nipples that were now exposed. 

Crowley gasped and jolted in her chair. The chilly air of the room gave her a ripple of gooseflesh, aided by Aziraphale's careful fondling. Her breasts were a scant palmful each, but he cupped them with a reverence that he hoped Crowley could feel. 

"Ah—yes!" Crowley writhed under his touch. As he looked down at her, studying her terrifying beauty, he saw that her legs were struggling to splay open within the confines of her sensible, tight pencil skirt. 

"Perhaps we should get you over to the bed," Aziraphale suggested.

"And how'm I supposed to do that when my knees have turned to water?" Crowley asked, her half-lidded gaze widening as Aziraphale scooped her into his arms. "Sweetheart!" she gasped, her own arms winding around his neck.

"I do like it when you call me that," he confessed, and bussed her on the cheek as he strode the short length of the room. Then, pulling back, he saw the look in her eyes that surely matched his own: dumbstruck with the depths of their shared affection, in awe of their mutual fondness. Aziraphale kissed her again, properly this time, tasting the metallic hint of her lipstick as he did so.

"Sweetheart," she said again, a whisper, a lovely sound. She touched Aziraphale's face, her polished fingernails flashing red in the lamplight. "Lay me down, would you?"

Aziraphale did as he was told. He meant to disrobe the both of them, eager to get his hands on as much of Crowley's skin as he could, but even angelic emissaries can get distracted sometimes. He got Crowley's jacket off, which was a good start, and he managed to wriggle out of his trousers and gardening smock. But then Crowley hitched her skirt above her knees, giving Aziraphale a view of her very sensible black suspenders and the tops of her black stockings, and it seemed to Aziraphale that they could wait to undress completely at some future time. 

"Come here, you lovely thing," he breathed, crawling onto the narrow single bed in just his underthings and open shirt. "Let me get my mouth on you."

"Like last time?" Crowley was already turning around, rising to her knees to make a space for Aziraphale to lay beneath her. "That was—it was good, wasn't it?"

"It was exquisite." Aziraphale rolled onto his back and slid between Crowley's legs, gazing up her skirt. "I've thought about it often." He hooked a finger into the gusset of her black panties. They were already soaked. He pulled them aside to reveal Crowley's pink, wet cunt. His mouth flooded in sympathy. "I've wanted so much to taste you again." 

Crowley rucked up her skirt further. "Taste all you want, angel," she said, and seated herself on Aziraphale's face. 

All the memories, all the nights spent alone in his little gardener's cottage reliving the last time—it simply didn't compare. Aziraphale moaned into the damp heat of Crowley's flesh and took hold of the backs of her thighs, palms sliding against the fine silk of her stockings. Her sweet cunt dripped onto his tongue as he licked and laved his way into her. Not too deep, he reminded himself; she preferred it shallow. So he latched onto her, sealing his mouth over her little clit and pretty slit, and sucked as hard as he could.

"Ah—!" Crowley rocked forward, her hands fisting in the pillows at the head of the bed. "Oh, angel, that's so good—"

"Now, now." Aziraphale raised her off his face just enough to speak. "We don't want to wake anybody, my dear. Do you think you can be quiet tonight?"

"Bastard." Crowley ground her cunt down against Aziraphale's grinning mouth. "I'll miracle the walls, all right?" A quick snap of her fingers, and Aziraphale felt the frisson of occult protection enveloping the room. 

"Perfect," said Aziraphale, and returned to eating away at Crowley with all due enthusiasm. She was so wet, he could feel the accumulated slick and saliva dripping down his chin. It excited him in turn, and he felt how soaked his own underthings were becoming. The damp spot between his legs grew with every cry of pleasure that spilled from Crowley's lips, every tremor in her lithe legs. 

"W-wait," Crowley gasped out after a particularly spectacular shudder that shook her from stem to stern, "you're going to make me come."

"That is generally the idea," Aziraphale said, but with his mouth so occupied, it was a bit muffled. 

Crowley climbed off him, much to Aziraphale's dismay. "I'd like to try something else first," she said, tugging her blouse out of her skirt and shucking it off. "Something new. Would you mind?"

"No," Aziraphale said, helping her with the zipper on the side of her skirt as she continued to undress. "Whatever you'd like, my dear." 

"I'd like to get these damn clothes off. Piss and _shit_ ," she cursed as the clasp of her suspenders eluded her fingers. "What is wrong with women's fashions these days? Used to be you could slip on a headscarf and be done with it. This is ridiculous!"

"Here, allow me." Aziraphale gently removed her hands from her beleaguered thigh and set about freeing her stockings from their clips. He glanced up at her flushed face as he carefully rolled the stocking down her leg. "I hate to criticize you, of course—"

"No you don't; it's one of your favorite things."

"—but you _did_ choose this disguise of yours." He slipped the stocking off her foot and set it aside on the nightstand, right next to his hat, before starting on the second suspender. "You might have picked something a bit less, oh, elaborate."

"Look who's talking. How much time do you spend in the makeup chair before you get to work each morning? Probably more than I do." Crowley's smile was sharp, but tinged with fondness as she looked down at Aziraphale. Then her gaze went a bit hazy and she looked away.

Aziraphale paused in his removal of her second stocking. "Something the matter?"

"Nah. It's just—" She swallowed, looked back down at him. "Might not be feeling very ladylike once this job is over. Could be I sway in another direction for a bit. You know how it is; I can't ever stay still."

"Oh." Aziraphale concentrated on working the stocking off her fine-boned foot. "Well, please do alert me if I should begin referring to you differently in my reports. Or anywhere else, for that matter."

"Angel."

Aziraphale looked up to see Crowley's face wearing a very serious expression, the skin around her eyes and mouth pinched with worry. 

"Yes?" he asked.

"Will it—?" She stopped, looked away. Tucked a lock of loose red hair behind her ear; it was coming loose from its waves. "If that happens, and I don't look like this anymore, I would understand. If you didn't—if I should stop calling you 'sweetheart.'"

Aziraphale dropped the perfectly rolled stocking to the bed. "Crowley." He got to his knees and walked on them until he was at Crowley's side, right next to her long, narrow, gloriously bare body. She seemed preoccupied with staring into the far corner of the room, but he did not let that deter him. "If that happens, and you look completely different," he said slowly, "I would still feel for you what I feel now—what I've always felt." He cupped her lovely face in his hands and turned it towards him, looking intently into her never-changing eyes. "The only reason I can fathom for you to stop calling me your sweetheart is if you wished to stop, as I do not foresee ever wanting that myself." 

Crowley's eyes widened a moment, then she snorted to cover the little sob that welled up in her throat. "You soft old sack of feathers." She kissed him quickly on the lips. "Come on, what are we doing chattering away like this?" Her grin turned wolfish as she tore Aziraphale's shirt from his shoulders and began working at the drawstring of his underthings. "Where are these from, then? Victorian times?"

"They're comfortable," Aziraphale said haughtily even as he was stripped. "I'll have you know I'm a laborer these days, working with my hands in the open air as God intended."

"Working with your hands? Miracling rosebushes back from the brink, more like." She grabbed Aziraphale's wrist to stop him from reaching for his sock suspenders. "Er, don't bother with those," she said.

Aziraphale blinked. "You want me to keep my socks on?" he asked. 

"Yes," she said.

"But they're tartan." He wriggled his toes in demonstration.

"Yes, I'm aware," Crowley sighed. 

"I thought you didn't approve of tartan."

"I like the suspenders," she said. "Keep 'em on."

"Right." Aziraphale laid back down, propped up a bit on his elbows. "You said you wanted to try something new?" 

"Fuck, you're gorgeous." Crowley's gaze roved over his body, lingering on where his legs parted to reveal his neglected quim. "Yes, new, absolutely. But first can I—?" She slid a hand up Aziraphale's calf, eyes pleading.

"I said whatever you like, and I meant it." Aziraphale's knees fell open. "And since I know firsthand how talented you are in _this_ arena, I'm not inclined to deny you." 

"Good instincts," said Crowley, and slithered her way between Aziraphale's legs so she could play with his cunt, the pad of her thumb circling the hood of his fat clit, spreading his slick around and around.

"Oh yes," Aziraphale gasped. His head fell back, his legs spreading impossibly wider. "More, please?"

"So polite." She dropped a kiss to his inner thigh and slid two fingers deep inside him, crooking them upwards as if beckoning him to come closer, her thumb whirling away atop his clit. "Fuck, you're as wet as I am, and I've barely touched you."

"If your plan involves trying this 'new thing,'" Aziraphale said dubiously, as he couldn't possibly see how their situation could be improved, "before I've come off, then I suggest you stop what you're doing. You've got me close to the edge, my dear." His hips jolted involuntarily as if in agreement.

"Hm, I suppose." Crowley slipped her fingers free, then popped them in her mouth to suck them clean as casually as one would a spoon after stirring a cup of coffee. "So," she said with a pop as she pulled her fingers out, "let's get to it, then." She sat up and arranged herself atop Aziraphale so that the V's of their legs met. She wore a look of intense concentration, much as she had earlier when writing her reports, as she manipulated Aziraphale's limbs to her liking.

"Should I—?" Aziraphale said.

Crowley grinned down at him. "Just lay back and look pretty, angel." She slotted herself against him so their cunts were nestled together, then very slowly, very carefully, rocked forward. Their clits, both sticky with fluid, met and kissed before Crowley rocked away again. They both moaned with the delicious, filthy sensation it produced.

"Oh, that's nice. Wherever did you discover this?" Aziraphale asked.

"Saw it in a magazine. You wouldn't believe the stuff they put in magazines. Here." Crowley grabbed one of Aziraphale's ankles, her other hand going to support his opposite knee, and held him open, grinding down on him with the most wonderful force. Aziraphale's mouth fell open, and Crowley's eyes slid shut. As she moved against him, Aziraphale reached for her, one hand clutching at her slim hip to help steady her. 

"Ah—angel, fuck—keep yourself spread open for me," she murmured, and took his free hand to place it on the back of his thigh to assist in keeping his leg where she wanted it. They slid together aided by their combined fluids, sweaty and slick, their cunts as hungry for each other as every other part of them.

"My dear, you feel so—"

"Yeah." She tossed her head back, her hair falling in waves to her shoulders. "Yeah, you too." 

Crowley fucked him with a single-mindedness that Aziraphale very much appreciated. He was also glad that, with her eyes closed, he could stare as much as he liked. A high flush appeared on her cheeks, darker even than the rouge she wore. Her lipstick and mascara were, miraculously, quite literally, still in place, and Aziraphale longed to smudge her a bit. She never looked so lovely as when she was coming undone, his demon. He dug his fingers into her hip, encouraging her to fuck him harder.

She took her pleasure like she was desperate for it, her little sounds tumbling from her lips as she ground against Aziraphale. "Could you come like this?" she asked. "Please say you can. I want us to—" 

"After you, my dear," he said, snugging his thumb over her clit and rubbing at it in time with her aggressive thrusts. 

A high, piercing cry left her throat as, eyes squeezed shut, Crowley came, soaking the tight space between them with a flood of her fragrant slick. Aziraphale cooed in approval, dipped this thumb in the puddle gathering in his white-blond curls, and applied it to Crowley's sweet clit, working her through jolt after jolt there between his legs. Crowley spasmed as if run through with electricity, and she said Aziraphale's name in a jagged, pleading way. That, more than anything, pushed him over the cliff to join her in her passions. 

He arched up beneath her, head thrown back into the pillows, his hands clamping to her hips so that she wouldn't be bucked off. The narrow bed shook with their movements, headboard bashing against the wall, which was luckily insulated from all human ears. Aziraphale came, his gaze riveted to Crowley's face.

They slumped together in an exhausted heap, Crowley folding over him so that her head rested on his heaving chest. They breathed together like that for a time, the dampness between them becoming impossible to ignore. Aziraphale felt a single droplet drip from Crowley's slit and into the crease of his thigh, where it ran downwards until it encountered the bedclothes. 

"I very much enjoyed your _new thing_ ," Aziraphale said softly as he petted a hand over Crowley's mussed hair. This time, he spoke the phrase with well-earned warmth. 

"Mmm." Crowley lifted her head just enough to press a kiss to the side of Aziraphale's neck. "Nice, wasn't it?" She settled against Aziraphale again, the lines of her spare body molding itself to his curves. Like a knife cushioned on a velvet pillow, Aziraphale thought with amusement. He was toying with the idea of sharing the thought with Crowley when she piped up again: "D'you think we might try it again? Or something else? You know, sometime." 

"Ah." His hand stilled in her hair. "I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. That's, well, the reason I came to visit you tonight in the first place, but I suppose I got sidetracked." She went rigid against him, and even that little moment of pain was too much; Aziraphale couldn't bear to see her worry. "I do enjoy being sidetracked with you, my dear. Please know that." He kissed the top of her red head. "And while we're living in this household together for the next eleven years, I don't see why we shouldn't make a habit of it."

Crowley's head whipped up so quickly, some strands of her hair caught on Aziraphale's lips. "You don't?" she croaked.

He dislodged the hairs from his mouth with his little finger before answering. "No, I don't. Unless you would rather we—?" 

Crowley surged forward to kiss him, stopping him from completing whatever idiotic sentence he was about to say. Aziraphale's arms went 'round her, held her close. Kissed her back as good as she gave. And, oh, she gave him so much. 

When Crowley at last pulled away, she fixed him with a stern look. "It really has been too long, you know."

"I know." He squeezed her closer. "I'm sorry."

"So. A regular thing, yeah?" Her eyes fell to his mouth. "Take advantage of our time here?" Her hand slipped down his belly to play in the slick between his thighs. 

"Exactly." He canted his hips up toward her deft touch. "I won't have you getting so tense again. You need to relieve the stress that comes with your work, I see that now." 

"All for my benefit, then?" she asked with a teasing lick of her lips. 

"Not at all." Aziraphale smiled. "Perhaps I've not been vocal enough on the subject, my dear, so I will tell you now." He sat up and touched his thumb to Crowley's sharp chin, his forefinger holding it gently. "I would make love to you every day if I could. And I mean to try." 

Her mouth fell open, then shut, then, before she could protest his use of certain phrases, Aziraphale kissed her quiet. 

"We could make up for lost time tonight," he whispered as they parted. He placed his hand over hers where it had stilled between his legs. "Don't you think?"

"Oh, angel." She smiled and rubbed her thumb along his wet lips. "Now you're speaking my language." 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please check out bluesparkle's amazing 3-part nsfw fanart based on the then-unwritten idea I had for this fic, which was so gorgeous it made me write it! 
> 
> [Here](https://twitter.com/Valerie_Sparkle/status/1240651429938937858)  
> [Here](https://twitter.com/ThePartySparkle/status/1240684746914410503)  
> [And here!](https://twitter.com/ThePartySparkle/status/1240755528894201864)
> 
> You can find me [@triedunture](https://twitter.com/triedunture) on Twitter.


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